


Taking Care

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, And Anti says hi, And Schneep trying to figure out what the Host even is, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, Caretaking, Death Threats, Developing Friendships, Explanations, First Meetings, Getting to Know Each Other, Illustrated, It's essentially the Host not liking strangers, Light Angst, Medical Procedures, Memory Alteration, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mind Games, Multiple Personalities, Multiple Selves, No Plot/Plotless, Oblivious, Prophetic Visions, Psychic Abilities, Repressed Memories, Surprises, Symbolism, Unfortunate Implications
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 16:10:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12214272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: When Dr. Iplier needs to step out of the clinic, he asks Dr. Schneeplestein to fill in for him. The Host happens to have an appointment and needs to find a way of bonding with this strange newcomer.





	Taking Care

“I’m only going to be out for a few hours, Host; I doubt you’ll die while I’m gone, but in case you do, you’ll have a very smart doctor to bring you back to life,” Dr. Iplier explained as he shrugged on his coat and took off his head mirror in the same motion, already moving toward the door. “You know how long it’s been since Mark made a video with me! You can’t expect me to give up that chance, right?”

The Host pursed his lips tightly against any complaint—any response, for that matter. Unfortunately, Iplier _was_ right. It was an unspoken vow among the Egos that whenever Mark intended to give them the spotlight, they had it, no questions asked. (Of course Dark often violated that rule, but that was a part of his character just as much as everything else.)

Even so, The Host couldn’t help but be increasingly reluctant to allow a stranger in the same _room_ as him, much less one who intended to conduct a checkup on his eye sockets, but he had Foreseen that Dr. Iplier's friend, Dr. Schneeplestein, had gentle hands when it came to those few he bothered to care for.

Nevertheless, the Host had already used his Hindsight, thoroughly searching Schneeplestein’s past work, grimacing as he watched Peter the accountant flatline and humming thoughtfully as Chase Brody survived his suicide attempt to go home to his family. In his vision, Chase didn’t seem particularly hopeful about that, but judging by the dark circles under his eyes and the stress lines hollowing his cheeks, he could probably be given some slack when it came to showing any proper positivity.

What truly grasped his attention, however, was that Schneeplestein had once been charged with saving his creator. The Host knew very little of Jacksepticeye; he had never pertained to the stories the Host was apart of, but he clearly Saw the love and compassion Schneeplestein showed for his maker, the unique care he poured into his work. He saw his nervousness, his need to help, his craving for Jack’s safety, nearly crushing.

 _White noise_. _Cracked lens_. _Bleeding. L͖͚͆͂̇aughing. Distant voͬͣ̉̋͑̓iͥ̓̽̅ceͨͤ́_.

_P̲͓̞̻ͧast is the past, A̟͙ͦ͒ͅuthor. C̦̼͐́ome here again and I̥͕͉̖̊́’ll kill you._

The Host shook his head dazedly, the Hindsight fading, leaving only an impression of what he had seen or not seen. Sometimes his visions were like chalk drawings—easily formed yet easily sponged away. It was just enough of an impression that he could make his final assessment:

If Schneeplestein cared enough, he could be trusted. 

The German-Irishman was far bubblier than the Host expected as he strode into the clinic; he could hear him singing—if it could be called that—something about going _“All the way”_. At those words, the Host couldn’t help but swallow hard against the bile rising in his throat. He had always thought of Iplier’s clinic as a safe haven, a place where he could be without shame or judgment. While he had seen Schneeplestein’s work, he didn’t know him. Anything could happen. He tilted his head toward the sound, engaging his Sight. It was mildly comforting that Schneeplestein looked the same as he had in the visions; the Host took a soundless breath as he approached.

“Why, hello there! You must be the Dr. Iplier’s _favorite_ patient, yes?” the doctor exclaimed in slightly broken English, electric blue eyes scrunching up like he was grinning underneath his procedure mask. “Well, it looks like Dr. Schneeple is your caretaker today and I have a feeling I know just what I’ll be treating!”

“The Host politely greets the substitute doctor and then reminds him that his appointment is not a wellness check,” he answered hurriedly. “His appointment is nothing but a routine change of bandages.”

To his wary surprise, Schneeplestein’s eyes widened in childlike wonder at the words. “Ohh, you are an _illeist!_ Very, very interesting…! But are you certain, buddy? I would be happy to make sure all of your innards are properly placed!”

“The Host appreciates the offer but rejects it,” he shot back in a breath. _Buddy?_ Since when were medical professionals so informal?

Schneeplestein tsked lightly and shook his head, green bangs flopping until he readjusted his surgical cap. “Ah, well, if you insist. Now I’m going to get rid of these bandages of yours.”

“The Host is familiar with the procedure.” Irritation threatened. Was Schneeplestein ignorant? Did he honestly believe the Host had never endured this before, that he didn’t know how this worked?

“Yes, yes, of course,” the doctor concurred, chuckling. “Iplier explained it to me—although I can never quite tell what he say when he sleep-deprived. Fortunately, I am the undisputed _master_ at improvisation!”

Irritation gave way to nervousness; the Host shifted uncomfortably, but his current caretaker was already standing on tiptoe to cut the dressings. As he leaned forward to allow it, the Host did a discreet double-take; according to his Sight, Dr. Iplier’s shears were still on the nearby counter. Where and when Schneeplestein had gotten his, the Host didn’t know. It caught him slightly off guard, if he was honest. _He may be informal, but he isn’t unprepared._

The bandages were sticky with recent blood as Dr. Schneeplestein unwound them, making lighthearted small talk that the Host quietly tuned out, even though they were practically nose to nose; he was too focused on what the other man’s hands were doing. Even if he had been listening, he wouldn’t have needed to pay attention for much longer; as soon as the straps of gauze were peeled away from his cheekbones, they fell through the doctor’s fingers, landing with a light _splat_ at his feet.

Gasping something in German and wrenching off his facemask, he wiped a few fingers hurriedly through the blood now trailing free and planted the other hand on the back of the Host’s neck, as though he expected his head to roll off.

Stiffening, the Host looked for the brief flash of what might happen next.

He could already hear the horror echoing in the question to come:

_“You…live like this?”_

The fingers against the back of his collar tightened, precipitating the words, and the Host was forced to intervene. “The Host would prefer the doctor withhold his question,” he announced tersely. “The answer is positive. The Host lives like this, before your eyes…lacking his own.”

Schneeplestein muttered something else in his secondary tongue, rougher and lower in his throat, but his fingers softened a few moments later, as did his tone. “There is…nothing that can be done?” he ventured instead. “Nothing to…fix?”

“No. Never.” Judging by the doctor’s hesitant expression, he wouldn’t take that answer without elaboration. The Host stifled a frustrated sigh as he turned his head, showing off the trails of blood consolidating on his cheeks. “The Host’s eyes are far beyond recovery and his blood does not clot properly. He is meant to be this way. His creator, Mark…” The sigh found its escape there. “…No, he did not create the Host this way. Mark modified him at a later point. Why, the Host doesn’t know.”

“That—” Schneeplestein sputtered a little, clearly unsure of what to say. For the first time since he’d entered the clinic, he opted not to say anything, refocusing his attention on cleaning the Host’s face. Once that was finished, he stepped back, but he didn’t reach for fresh dressings just yet. “I—I-I know someone else who doesn’t stop bleeding,” he said tensely, not necessarily to his patient, as he rubbed a hand over his throat, inadvertently smearing it with the blood on his gloves. “At least I _think_ I know…but I’m not…I don’t know.”

The Host tilted his head slightly, allowing another small rivulet of blood to stain freshly cleaned skin.

“Tch. What am I thinking? What does it matter?” Schneeplestein waved it off abruptly, striding toward the counter. “Fresh bandages! Dr. Schneep may not be able to fix you, but he is perfectly capable of taking good care!”

Thinking back to the doctor’s efforts to save Jacksepticeye, the Host replied with nothing but a measured nod.

**Author's Note:**

> At some point I may edit this to give it a different ending, but for now I like it as it is! Anti, stop messing with people's memories! It's really rude >:(
> 
> In case you were wondering, Schneep doesn't really _remember_ that Anti was the one attacking him. In KILL JACKSEPTICEYE, he said he had "never seen something attack a system like this before", which implied he wasn't fully aware of it until maybe the very end when Anti was taking control. For this story, I headcanoned that Anti repressed Schneep's memory of that realization. I doubt he could fully repress the memory of someone like the Host, though, which is why he still has an inkling or two of Anti's existence. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! Leave a kudos or a comment to tell me what you thought; I'd love to hear from you!


End file.
